


Calling

by helenmaldon



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arashi as monks - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenmaldon/pseuds/helenmaldon
Summary: Aiba is an overenthusiastic fourteenth-century Italian monk. Nino is the peasant who saves him.





	Calling

1326 AD

_Certosa di Pavia Monastery, Italy_

Aiba took a deep breath, trying to steel himself as the wind picked up and his robes began to flutter around his ankles. He took a moment to survey the ground from the great height of the ledge of the cathedral window, then shook his head and fixed his eyes firmly on the sky. _Faith_ , he reminded himself. He clasped his hands together in prayer, squeezing his eyes shut as if to focus his whole being on his goal. _I can do it as long as I have faith. Lord, please give me wings so that I can fly closer to you. Please recognize my faith in your divine power. Amen._

But when he opened his eyes, the ground looked further away than ever and the distance impossible. After all, Aiba reflected, the apostle Peter had only been able to walk on water for a few steps before he fell beneath the waves. Then again, Peter had doubted. If only Aiba believed strongly enough….

He raised his arms to prepare himself, then started violently as a white dove appeared out of nowhere to fly in front of him. His heart began to race even faster. _A sign! A sign from God! A visitation of the Holy Spirit!_ Aiba smiled. Yes, he could do it….he could fly….

He picked up his foot, and then frowned as the tranquil day was interrupted by the sound of high-pitched, panicked shouts. The sounds seemed to be coming from below. Aiba looked down, starting again as he discovered a small figure screaming up at him from the foot of the cathedral. It was a young boy, dressed in ragged peasant clothes, and so thin and white that he looked like a skeleton that had come to life.

Aiba lowered his foot and strained to hear his shouts, but it was difficult to make out the words. His peasant accent was so thick that Aiba could only understand a few of his shouts, “Stop…idiot….sin….”

Had God sent this strange creature to test him? “Do not fear, my child,” Aiba shouted down in what he hoped was a holy voice, “The Lord will protect me!” But as he shouted, the words suddenly struck him as doubtful. Was it really right for him to ask God to let him fly? Was he committing the sin of pride that Father Nakai was always warning them about?

He watched the figure pound a fist against the church’s stone wall before shouting more words up at him. “I’m sorry,” Aiba yelled down in his normal tone of voice, forgetting to be holy, “I can’t understand you!” The boy rolled his eyes, and Aiba noticed that he had a small mole on his chin. Although his ragged figure and rough words were like one of the demons on the church door, Aiba’s mother had always told him that moles were a sign of good luck and of God’s favor…

Aiba flapped his arms uncertainly, not sure how he should respond to this strange child. Or whether his plan was, after all, very wise. Brother Sakurai’s disapproving face seemed to appear in front of him. 

He was still hesitating when suddenly the voice from below changed. Aiba froze, and gaped down at him. The small peasant boy was shouting up at him with all his might, “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua...!” the small figure continued, looking as if he might pass out from how hard he was shouting. _The Lord’s Prayer! In Latin! But how can an ignorant peasant recite the sacred language of the church…unless…unless he’s a messenger from God? No demon could recite those sacred words so perfectly!_

Deciding that it was God’s will that he abandon his plan, Aiba put his arms down and begin scaling his way back down the stone wall, accompanied by what sounded like a relieved shout from the boy. “Good!” he finally understood through the boy’s accent. “Good! Yes, good!” Aiba smiled, the peasant’s accent bringing back memories of the way his own mother spoke—the way he used to speak before entering the monastery when he was nine.

About ten feet off the ground, Aiba twisted his head around to try to get a good look at the boy, and he promptly slipped and fell the rest of the way down, groaning as he landed awkwardly on his left foot. Pain shot through his ankle, and as he scrambled up and tried to take a wobbly step forward, he realized that he had sprained it. Again. _Brother Sakurai is going to kill me_ , Aiba winced.

He turned to the peasant, who was glaring at him accusingly. On the way down, Aiba had started to think that the boy might actually be an angel sent by God, but up close he definitely looked dirty enough to be a demon. There were even holes in his brown stockings. And then Aiba realized that he wasn’t a young boy at all, but probably around his own age although he was so skinny that it was hard to tell. “I can’t walk,” Aiba said slowly, feeling somewhat intimidated by the way the peasant was glaring at him, “Can you help me get back to the refectory?” The peasant looked surprised by his request, but if he had any trouble understanding him he didn’t show it, stepping over and allowing the taller man to lean against his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me for saving your life?” the peasant muttered under his breath as they began hobbling along. Aiba was surprised by his newfound ability to understand the peasant’s accent, but the more he spoke, the more memories of his mother and the speech of his childhood came back to him. “You monks are supposed to be so holy,” he continued grumbling, “and you’re trying to destroy yourself…”

“I wasn’t trying to destroy myself!” Aiba protested quickly. “I was trying to fly!”

The peasant paused for a moment to stare at him before continuing, “So now they let lunatics into the order…I guess I shouldn’t be surprised….”

“I’m not a lunatic…I believe that God will let me fly like a bird if my faith is strong enough…” 

The peasant snorted, “God didn’t give us wings, he gave us two legs. I’m pretty sure that’s his way of telling us to stay on the ground.”

Aiba’s mouth dropped open again. He’d never heard a peasant say such wise things about God before. “How come you’re able to talk about God so well?” he demanded eagerly. “And how come you can talk the holy language? Are you really an…angel?” Aiba finished doubtfully.

The peasant laughed, his scowl disappearing. “No, I’m not a messenger from God.” He shrugged his shoulders underneath Aiba’s arm, “I just spend a lot of time standing outside the church and listening to the mass, anyone can pick up the prayers if you hear them repeated every day,” he finished with a small frown.

“Do you know what you were saying?”

He shook his head, “I just like to listen to the words,” he confessed, “They’re…different. Different from everyday talk.”

Aiba’s heart was pounding with excitement again. Now he knew why God had compelled him to that ledge. “What’s your name?” he asked.

The peasant glanced at him warily, as though calculating whether answering the question would get him into trouble later. “Nino,” he finally responded, not meeting Aiba’s eyes.

He didn’t ask for Aiba’s name, so Aiba went ahead and offered it, “I’m Brother Aiba, I’m a monk here. Are you an orphan?” Aiba was sure the answer was yes—why else would he be on the verge of starvation unless he didn’t have a family to feed him? Again, it took a few moments before Nino finally nodded. Aiba continued, “I’m a nobleman’s bastard.” Nino glanced up at him sharply, surprised that he would reveal something like that so easily, but Aiba seemed unconscious of any shame as he continued, “My mother was a peasant, so I can understand you, even though I talk fancy now.” Nino couldn’t stop a small smile, remembering how Aiba had called him “child” from the window ledge. “I was able to get in because of my father, but I think I can get you in too. I’ll tell them how you saved me by praising God, and they’ll see that you’re meant to join the brotherhood.”

Nino’s heart jumped, but he looked away, trying not to let the cheerful idiot limping beside him get his hopes up. He hadn’t had anything to eat since yesterday, when a villager gave him some burnt porridge that he was about to throw to the pigs. Being in the monastery would mean clothes, food, and a place to sleep. And reciting the beautiful words in the church, and singing in the choir, and even looking at the precious books in the library. His heart jumped again as he thought of touching the soft vellum pages of a book. He’d only seen one from across the length of a chapel when he was young. “Why would they take a filthy peasant? I have no money to give them,” he murmured, unable to keep a note of hope out of his voice in spite of his words.

“Don’t worry,” Aiba grinned brightly, “If you take me to the refectory,” he pointed in the direction he wanted Nino to steer him, “and I can find Brother Sakurai, I’ll get you in. He’s a very good and wise man, and he’ll see that God called you to us.”

Nino wasn’t sure about whether God had called him to the monastery or not. More like he didn’t want a monk to fall to his death on the very spot he liked to stand and listen to the church services. But maybe this Brother Aiba could persuade them; his confident certainty almost had Nino convinced (though he still had some doubts about the monk’s sanity).

Nino had to force himself not to shrink back as they moved into the monastery. Technically, peasants weren’t allowed inside any of the monastery buildings (unless they worked in the kitchen), but that fact didn’t seem to bother Aiba, who limped forward with determination. With wide eyes, Nino took in the long tables for eating and, even more amazing, the sight of an artist working on a large mural at the other end of the hall. A plaster brush in one hand, he was staring at a tall, fierce looking man who seemed to be posing for him. The handsome man with thick eyebrows was wearing the most glittering jewels that Nino had ever seen. 

“That’s Brother Ohno,” Aiba informed him softly as they approached, “he’s a monk too, but he’s also a famous artist. And that’s the Duke’s son, Matsumoto.” Aiba felt Nino stiffen, “Don’t worry, he looks scary, but he’s actually very nice. He’s posing for the figure of Joseph in the new mural. And there’s Brother Sakurai,” he pointed to a monk who was standing nearby watching Ohno work. “Just let me do the talking,” he whispered.

Nino wanted to retort that he didn’t need a lunatic to speak for him, but his tongue seemed frozen by the presence of monks (not counting Aiba, who seemed more like a peasant) and nobility.

“Brother Sakurai!” Aiba called. The monk turned around with an expression of surprise, his eyes first taking in Nino’s figure and then Aiba’s limp. The color drained from his face as he rushed down the hall.

“Aiba!” he cried, “What have you done this time? You’ve hurt your ankle again?” he cried, looking so alarmed that Nino wondered if this monk wasn’t in love with his friend. Although the church said it was a sin, Nino had heard that many of the monks had such relationships. 

“Um…yes…please forgive me, Brother Sakurai…” Aiba murmured sheepishly.

The older monk’s face turned stern. “How did you break it?” he demanded.

Aiba started fidgeting, and Nino really wished he would stop leaning on him. “I…um…well today in chapel we heard about Peter walking on water…and I thought that maybe I could…” Aiba’s voice kept getting smaller and smaller, “fly,” he finally whispered, “I thought that if I believed enough then I could perform a miracle and God would grant me wings so that I could fly…”

Brother Sakurai closed his eyes and didn’t respond for a few moments, as if trying to rein in his fury. Finally, he opened his eyes and proceeded to lecture Aiba for the next five minutes. Nino couldn’t follow most of it, as there were a lot of bible verses and names he didn’t recognize mixed in, but soon there were tears brimming in Aiba’s eyes. 

Seeing his tears, Brother Sakurai seemed to relent. “I’m sorry Aiba,” he said in a softened voice, “but I don’t know what I’d do if we lost you. The next time you want to try to perform a miracle, please reflect on the fact that for all of us here, you’re already a miracle, and we’d be lost if anything happened to you. I don’t want to constantly be afraid of what you might do.”

Now tears were gushing out of Aiba’s eyes and onto Nino’s sleeve. “I understand, please forgive me, Brother.”

Sakurai shook his head, “Just promise me that this is the last time. You already broke your ankle once before trying to turn wine into water, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself again. Serve God by doing his work in the monastery, not by trying to fly outside it.”

Aiba nodded, “I promise,” he replied softly. Seemingly satisfied, Sho’s gaze wandered over to Nino, “Hello friend,” he greeted him politely, “you helped Aiba make his way here?”

“Actually, I saved this fool,” Nino said roughly, immediately cursing himself for his bold retort. 

Sakurai’s brows shot up at the peasant’s tone. “Aiba?” he questioned.

Aiba launched into his tale, stressing Nino’s miraculous ability to speak in Latin and concluding that he had clearly been sent to join their monastery. Sakurai looked doubtful. “Brother Aiba,” he said sofly, and Nino had a sinking feeling, “You know we can’t accept just anyone into our order…”

“But he’s an orphan! And he’s hungry!” Aiba cried, his eyes flashing, “What about charity?”

“We can give him our charity, but do you think he’s really prepared to enter this kind of life?”

“Yes,” Nino suddenly spoke up, surprising himself, “I don’t know if I’m prepared for it, but I’d do anything for the kind of life you all lead here. And to see your library.”

Sakurai looked confused. Aiba jumped in to translate, “He said he humbly requests your favor, and that he’ll do everything in his power to prepare to take orders. His only wish is to join us and serve God.”

Sakurai looked between the two of them suspiciously, as if sure that wasn’t quite what Nino had said, but at the same time Nino thought he could detect a hint of indecision in Sakurai’s eyes.

And then Brother Ohno appeared at Sakurai’s side, staring at Nino so intensely that he shifted uncomfortably, trying to twist away from his gaze. “His face,” Brother Ohno finally pronounced slowly, “he has the face that appeared to me in my dream, the face that will complete my masterpiece. He is the angel that visited Mary with the news of our Savior’s birth,” he offered in a sleepy yet sure voice. Both Sakurai and Aiba gaped at the artist, not having heard him speak so many words in several months (Brother Ohno usually maintained an informal vow of silence). But they recognized the glow of inspiration in the artist’s eyes that always preceded his most beautiful works.

And then Matsumoto joined them. To Nino’s utter astonishment, the richly dressed nobleman gave him a small wink before turning to Sakurai and proclaiming in a ringing voice, “Brother Sakurai, surely you will not impede the progress of the work I have so generously commissioned? This mural will be my legacy in this church and my offering for the glory of God, and I will not have any obstacles placed in the way of my artist.”

Sakurai sighed and threw up his hands. “God help me, but perhaps he can keep you in line. Alright Aiba, take him to Father Nakai and say that I have examined him and given him my permission to join the order. If you can get him past Father Nakai, then the Lord must truly be on your side. Make sure you don’t mention Brother Ohno’s name, but bring up the Duke’s, and maybe you’ll succeed.

 

*

 

Several hours later, Nino lay in a bed for the first time in his life, one bed in a long row of beds that stretched along the wall of the monks’ living quarters. He stroked the new bald patch at the top of his head thoughtfully, hardly able to believe that in just a few hours he’d gone from believing he might die from starvation to being one of the monks in the beautiful monastery. 

Not that it hadn’t been a painful process. There had been the terrifying interview with Father Nakai, who hadn’t been able to understand Nino’s dialect and shouted at him, relenting only when he heard Nino’s recitation of the Latin service. “See, this is what I’m always telling the brothers,” he continued shouting, “you need to say the service with enthusiasm, the way you said it when you were first starting out…”

Then there had been a freezing bath in the middle of the cloister in cold water, and the top of his hair carefully shaven off by Aiba, new robes, and (best of all) food and drink. And Ohno had come to ask him to pose for him the next day—he said he would use his face to paint an angel descending from heaven to the Blessed Virgin. And now he was in a bed, in more luxury then he could ever have imagined. But he couldn’t seem to swallow a strange lump in his throat. 

“Nino,” he heard Aiba’s whisper from the bed beside him, “Nino, are you scared?”

“No,” he responded quickly, “what would I be scared of?”

But he was glad when he heard Aiba limp over to his bed, tucking his long body under the covers with him. “It’s okay. I was little when I came to the monastery, so it was even scarier for me. Even when the brothers were nice to me, it was so different from the life I had before. I usually try not to think about it, but you remind me so much of my mother that I keep remembering what it was like outside the monastery.”

“I remind you of your mother?”

“You talk like her.”

“Oh.” Nino couldn’t stop himself from moving a little closer to Aiba, who promptly wrapped an arm around him. He was starting to feel warm and sleepy. “Did you really think you could fly?”

Aiba was quiet for a few minutes. “Maybe. I believe that God can make any miracle happen. But I think it wouldn’t have worked today because my heart wasn’t pure. I said I wanted to be closer to God, but I also wanted to escape these walls. At least for a little while.”

“Things aren’t so great on the outside,” Nino mumbled sleepily.

“That’s true. Now I know that God didn’t want me to fly away, he wanted me to keep you safe here.”

“More like he wanted to give Brother Sakurai a break and have me look after you,” Nino managed.

Aiba smiled, and his chest shook with laughter. “Okay, then you can be my guardian angel.”

Only because he was just on the verge of falling asleep, Nino let himself say what was in his heart, “I think you’re my guardian angel.” 

_Thank you for giving me wings_ , Aiba prayed before falling asleep in his new friend’s embrace.


End file.
